name tag says 'bipolar'

Today. April 1st.
so. yes. it is night. it is night and i exercised and i glued and i read and i did not much else besides that. it is night and i am back in touch with the german. i am back in touch with the german but i have told him i am out of town. i have told him i am out of town because i do not want to see him. i do not want to see him or anybody else until i have lost ten pounds.
so i am on the master cleanse. i am on the master cleanse and today was day 1 and i did great.
that was today. my today.

yesterday i felt like i woke up a million times. all of a sudden i looked around and nothing  made sense and everything made sense. that feeling when you wake up and open your eyes and it takes a few seconds for your brain to kick in, and let you know that yes you are awake and you are Here and the Life switched is turned On for the day. they call it 'coming to'. i have that feeling several times a day. i have that feeling several times a day. i have that feeling several times a day and it lets me know that my reality is very mismatched with itself. gone are hours or people or days or conversations or schedules or meals or shows or books or entire bottles of wine. they dont make sense or they cant be explained by the me that is bound to wake up later or tomorrow or yesterday or two days from now.entire sections of my self dont make sense to me; at any given time i can not explain my self to myself. coming to.

is that insanity? insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. the only thing i do over and over like that is wake up every morning. i expect to wake up to a better me or a more energetic me or a more motivated me. or the me that can have a steady relationship, or the me that is an excellent housekeeper, or the me that has realistic, achievable goals and a Plan and a Direction and a Career.
but i never do. and each day i am heartbroken.
in the morning i am a sloth. in the day i am a spider, moving slowly, spinning webs and sometimes hanging from the ceiling. and i can bite or i can scare or i can crawl, crawl, crawl all day. in the night i am a pile. a pile of unchecked to-do lists, a pile of unanswered questions, a pile of mistakes, a pile of Quit, and a pile that drinks the wine to accompany the flavors of Quit, and a pile that makes ambitious and efficient lists for tomorrow. because tomorrow i will be full of energy, i say. tomorrow i will be efficient and productive and well on my way to perfect mental health. tomorrow i will be a new me and finally be good at Life. tomorrow.
but tomorrow is like today. and today is like yesterday. and yesterday is like tomorrow and i am in a spinning tornado and nothing changes expect when i 'wake up' sporadically throughout the day.
i am between Everything and Nothing. i am between verbose and mute. i am between alive and dead. i am Somwhere and Nowhere. i am between up and down and side to side and noise and silence and Love and debilitating Apathy.
i am between Everything and Nothing. that is where i can be found. that is where i can be lost. between everything and nothing. slowing down to the speed of sound. racing up the beat the grass to the surface, the surface of the life i dont have, the life i failed to design, the life i forget about because instead i am between.

so i watch them walk away. i always remember what they look like when theyre leaving. i can smell when they have begun to rot from the poison of my disorder.
but they were warned. from the beginning, they were warned. every single one, every single time, they were warned.
and my lips have memorized 'goodbye' but my heart never did.

Work In Progress

pardon my dust.

In heaven everybody listens to Slowdive

and in hell they are all forced to listen to margot and the nuclear so and so's and read science fiction

hahahahahahaha

hahahahahahahaha

hahahahahahahaha


current mood: edgy
current music: slowdive - catch the breeze

fraility, thy name is woman

today i was on the bus and i felt all kinds of surreal. i am choosing to attribute it to my new med cocktail, but i can never tell anymore.
i came home and stared at the blank tv for half an hour before i realized it worked better when it was turned on.

ive been listening to a lot of The National lately. it feels highly appropriate.
especially this one:

current mood: and then i tripped on my cupcake and signed up for basket wars
current music: the national - conversation 16

i think the kids are in trouble...

Lets call it a Hiatus Appropriatus

Why?
...because
because sometimes the pen can not keep up with the brain pushing it
because i've turned over like 5 new leaves and the world needs to know
because i get lonely and writing here makes me feel like i'm talking to folk
because i've insanely deep thoughts and your life is better for knowing them
and because i've a writer living inside me and i hardly ever let her out and it just makes her get louder and increasingly needy

So, anyway, here I am again. I welcome myself back. I've missed the eye strain of the screen and the clickity-clack of the keyboard.
Loads of time has passed and admittedly I got worse before I got better.
Where I am now is a (relieved to be) single gal, full-blown Bipolar, desperate to finish up with the daunting black cloud that is my master's thesis, now proudly A Best Friend, an avid reader and a gainer of ten lbs that have been politely asked to leave this frame but, upon their defiance, are about to be brusquely ushered out.

I dated and dated and and dated, to no avail. I tried patience, I tried fervor, I tried apathy, I tried complacence. I was wined, dined and intertwined, but I just couldn't lasso up enough feelings. They were either arrogant or meek, pushy or doormats; all were just so utterly mediocre and achingly insipid.

**Let it be known now:

I'd rather just be single and not have to worry about being nice to someone all the time.**

Being Bipolar is rough enough. It's a whole endeavor to be nice to and nurture myself. I really can't be bothered to do it twice!

So here I am. A little worse for the wear, but slightly renewed and really, well, just quite ready.

current mood: red carpet green envy
current music: queen - under pressure

stay in character

Oh.
Hello.
Hi.
Umm.
Hmmm.

How do I...
I'm not sure where to begin...
...
....
. . .
. . . . .

We did it.
There was a ring; I said yes.

I got married.

It was (kind of) spontaneous and the ceremony was intimate and beautiful and high up and officiated by the most odd little Aussie, and I cant wait to see the pictures.
...So now my story ends here. I can dust hands and plan life. I can close this chapter, close this blog, say goodnight.

Thank you everyone for all your support and love.

I got married!


Disclaimer: Now, before you get too carried away, it was a spiritual wedding. Which means there was a ring, a ceremony, vows, photos, a reception, etc, but we didn't sign any papers. It was all about celebrating the connection that happens between two people, falling in love, infatuation, whatever it may be; celebrating the fact that it *exists*, that it actually *happens*.

I've always wanted to be a wife; I've always wanted to have a wedding, and to be married and happily in love. But I've now reached 28 years old and so far, I've been nothing but WRONG about love, about men. And though it breaks my heart wide open, I'm beginning to accept that I might not get the one thing I want most in life. The tragedy of this reality is unfuckingbearable.
So even if it never happens for me, at least I had THIS. Even if its invalid, at least I had a ceremony, a wedding, a vow exchange, pictures. I had the moment, the celebration, and all of the feelings.
Whether it is an escapist idealistic fantasty or not.
Even if it never happens for me, at least I had THIS.

mind the gap

I've landed myself a Brit! (Doesn't he look like a taller Keven?) He's so lovely and he says things like he's "keen on" me, and "fancies" me.
He earns points for:
-his charming accent
-his kindness
-his gorgeous apartment
-his height
-his charming accent
-his generousity
-his uber cool job
-his wardrobe
-his accent.

So another 'morning after', waking up in his light-filled apartment while he calls me 'babe' and grabs us some coffee, and I'm swooning.
And though he's eager to make me 'the girlfriend', I've been quite a bit hurt in the recent past, so I'm making every effort to pump the brakes on my heart's tendencies to open up and bleed. Not easy.

And in the meantime, today I'm filming the online preview thats meant as advertising for the play. The director needs Pris to be "all sex" in this scene, so I've the proper black lace lingerie, garter belt, and thigh-high fishnets. Not to mention the new hair cut Lorissa gave me. Half of my head is practically shaved, and the other half is purple and choppy.
Oh Pris.


current mood: punk rock
current music: art brut - good weekend